


The Stars aren't Home (but they'll do)

by Innocentfighter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones is mentioned, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innocentfighter/pseuds/Innocentfighter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was eight years old his mother told him about George’s death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars aren't Home (but they'll do)

**Author's Note:**

> Not related to run in anyway, but I like the ambiguity of Jim's past so that its something you can write about regardless. I need to give this kid a break. Read the tags please, I don't know how triggering this is, but better safe than sorry! Anyway, see you at the bottom!

When he was eight years old his mother told him about George’s death. The true story, not the cleaned up version of the media. It was the first time he had seen his mother cry, the first time that she was speaking to him. The first time he wasn’t treated like a ghost.

That night he swore he would never go into space, even though he wanted more than anything. He wanted to see those twinkling lights from up close. To boldly go.

But his mother had cried and he could imagine what it would to to her if he went out like George (not that his mother paid him much attention.)

Sam wanted to go off world, but he also talked about running away. He said that when he left it was Jim’s responsibility to look after their mother.

Might as well start now.

He could still name stars though. He’d join starfleet and work on Earth, like his mother wanted to. He could do it no matter what Frank said: He was mean and beat him up anyway.

There was nothing wrong with looking at the stars, even if he wouldn’t be among them. Besides maybe when he was older the teleporters could go across worlds.

The stars weren’t meant to be his home. Earth was.

* * *

When he was thirteen he’d seen horrors that would’ve made grown men break. He had been shattered, but he never gave in to them.

The mission, had it gone well, would’ve had him back with his kids waiting for Starfleet to get them. He had been betrayed (it wasn’t in his heart to be mad).

He had been beaten, starved, _raped,_ everything to get him to break and say were his kids were. Never would he tell him, but in the end he had begged, for death, for anything other than this.

By the time that Starfleet came to the rescue, by accident (of course), he was barely alive. They had gotten him out of the cell and rushed him to one of the ships.

In his pain hazed mind he remembered that he swore that he would never join Starfleet. Not if they let atrocities like this happen, and didn’t have any failsafes for this.

Tarsus had been his one chance to see the stars up close, even though he remembered swearing never to go into space. This time, he had no choice, he needed to get away from Frank and Earth.

How well that went.

Tarsus or Earth weren’t his home. He didn’t have one.

* * *

At sixteen he was as aimless as he had been at thirteen. Already he had graduated from high school and he had no real skills, it caused him to hang out with the “wrong” crowd.

The longer he stayed with them the longer his rap sheet grew: Breaking and Entering, vandalism, possession of illicit substances, use of illicit substance, minor in the possession of alcohol, and his personal favorite, prostitution.

He never looked at the stars anymore. No longer did they hold the wonder of unexplored reaches and strange new life. Instead they reminded him of blood, starvation, and failure. They weren’t the comfort of knowing that you weren’t alone, but instead the reality of how insignificant you truly were.

So instead of using his potential he got drunk and he got high. He always used the drugs more often than the drink. The bruises from Frank never healed.

He knew the words they used by heart each time he was processed.

“He’s The Hero’s son? Man, what a waste.”

“His father would be so disappointed.”

“What does his mother think?”

“He must be acting out for attention.”

“With a record like this Starfleet won’t even look at him, even with a name like his.”

At the last one each and every time he thought _‘Good.’_

They indirectly caused his father’s death and his mother’s neglect. They’d let Tarsus happen (even though there were now protocols for colony contact.)

Whoever was processing him would finish the paperwork and call frank, ignoring him and getting back to their jobs.

Funny how the never asked about the boot print bruises or the blood or even the scars he hadn’t had the chance to regenerate.

To them he was some troublemaker wanting attention. It never occurred to them that the children of heroes don’t always get treated as such.

He wouldn’t correct their thinking.

In the end there wasn’t much more to him than his next fuck and hit.

He felt like if he looked at the sky he’d see the stars indifference, so he never looked. Not on the clearest of nights.

If this is what a home was, he didn’t want one.

* * *

Twenty had him clean(er). No more drugs but a whole lot of fucking and moderate drinking. After a brush with a bad mix he’d stopped using. Now he could kind-of sorta hold a job. They were all temporary.

He flashed another fake ID and slipped into the bar. One of the cadets might be fun to tangle with.

He saw a pretty girl who appeared human by the bar. Naturally the game was afoot.

Fucks were fantastic but nothing beats a good fight. Even when you got your assed kicked, he’d argue it was better then.

Pike came in with a whistle and left him with the air knocked out of his lungs. The challenge, the belief in _him,_ derailed everything he was (and everything he swore not to do). He chased Pike off with attitude and then got on his bike and drove.

He drove and drove and drove.

Where he was going he didn’t know until he was by the entrance to the cemetery. Even in the bad light he could make out _the_ memorial.

For some reason he found himself walking over to it. He’d never seen it before, not caring to see the man that was dressed up by the media.

Jim took a deep breath.

“You’re him, huh. Don’t look like the hero type.”

The statue didn’t reply.

“You know what it's like? To have your name, to be your son? Sam ran away and is god knows where, haven’t talked to him in almost a decade! And just look at me, I’m nothing! Just some bright kid that turned into a junkie.”

The wind blew.

“I’m nothing, won’t ever be something, but I’ll make sure I outshine you in the history books, for better or worse. I’ll make you feel like how I’ve felt my _entire_ life!”

Which was ridiculous because it was a stature.

He turned and looked at his bike.

He knew that with whatever happened it couldn’t be any worse. Even though he swore that he wouldn’t join Starfleet or be among the stars. Without a second thought he got on his bike and drove to the shipyard.

Once there he made his new vow, three years.

He met a man who was more like him than he thought could exist. A man with nothing but his bones and a kid with nothing but the desire to spite a ghost.

Quite the pair. It might be fun.

His gaze turned to the window, watching as he left Iowa and everything behind. The morning stars were still visible.

It's not a home, he doesn’t doesn’t want one but this will be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just wanted to write a thing where Jim yells at the statue of his father, and also that he had problems with drugs at some point in his life, so somehow this was born and well, there you have it. Leave your thoughts below. Thanks for reading! Later! ~IF


End file.
